A Letter from down the Greyflood
by CatClawz
Summary: A long way down the Gwathlo Greyflood a wizard named Flemming the Pink has a sneaking suspicision about the intergrity of the Wise. Written freshman year of HS.


I came up with the main character, or author, of this letter, ages ago. He just sounded like a funny guy, and while this is written in true LotR style, I can almost guarantee that there will be more stories about him, and they will be funny and not so serious.  
  
Disclaime, I do that: I have made up the characters Eoric & Flemming, and a spare charm or two, but all other parts of this letter come from LotR, and are therefore, not mine!  
  
******  
  
TO: Eoric the Muddy-green in Sourthern Mirkwood  
  
FROM: Flemming the Pink on the south bank of the Gwathló  
  
Dear Eoric,  
  
I'm writing to ask if you know any way to rid rivers of eels of tremendous size. Such a one lives near my home and drives the other creatures away. I am certain it belongs to the Other One for that is the only way it could be strong enough to sstop my continued assaults on its person. The fish that it has not driven away it has eaten. Now it proceeds to make the plants both in the water and on the bank to grow in a rampid fashion. It chokes out all other life, but will not die itself. Any advice you could offer on this matter would indeed be welcome.  
  
How go things in Mirkwood? The land here was dry for several months, seeing not a drop of rain. Three days past the clouds opened up and a drenching rain has been falling ever since.  
  
I fear I have something I must confess in this letter. It grieves me to make such an accusation, but it must be known. The thing I fear is this: Saruman cannot be trusted. I realise that you will probably not believe this; Saruman the White, Head of the Council, Wisest of the Wise, a traitor. But I assure you that I believe it's possible, even likely.  
  
The thing that made me come to believe this is an event that took place a month past. It happened like this: I had ridden to Isengard to talk with Saruman in person. We discussed much, goings on in Middle Earth, spell structures, the development of certain peoples; quite usual topics. But toward the end of my stay he came to press upon certain subjects. In particular the temperment of the Men who live near my home. Which is absurd, absolutely no one lives in my corner of Middle Earth as everyone knows. But he asked and I told him of the few who live on the sea coast, as I visit their villages bimonthly and know somewhat of their doings. He pressed me long and after a time asked what the people thought of the battle against the Other One and also of Gondor's part in it.  
  
Well, of course I told him the truth, that most did not have an opinon of it. But, I added, that in one particular village the men were discontent with the men of Gondor. Saruman proceeded to ask if the men were displeased enough to take up arms against Gondor. Startled I considered this. Yes, I told him, some of them could probably be presuaded to do such a thing.  
  
And here was where I had my first inkling of trouble. For as I said this I saw a gleam of triumph in Saruman's face. You may well believe that I am only imagining things. I quite wish I was, but I know only too truthfully that the look was there, however brief it was.  
  
This is not enough to say there is treachery in the council; however my tale but half finished. We went on to discuss spells again, Saruman perhaps to alay my anxiety, which I am certain I showed. He asked about a certain spell to repel one's enemies. I informed him that I had never used it as it needed powdered newt, and it was only barely effective anyway. I detest using beasts in my magic, even unintelligent ones. I told him so, and reminded him that the magic was used in old wives tales, and practiced only by them. They believe that the newts repel or dissovle forces that mean one harm, but the spell is only a good charm, and an ineffective one at that.  
  
Saruman said that he did indeed remember the spell's orgins, but, he went on to add, was it possible that the tales had been twisted with time? Was it conceivable that back in times forgotten the old wives had used live newts?  
  
I was completely appaled. It was possible, I said, but it would involve untold agony for the newt.  
  
He wasn't satisfied with that though. Would using live newt help the potency of the spell? he asked.  
  
I told him I supposed it would, but anyone who tried it was a heathen and I certainly wasn't going to stay and watch.  
  
I am afraid I got up then and left in rather a huff. I rode away form Isengard before the sun had set that same day, and reached home two weeks later by way of the Gap of Rohan. I have thought on the matter in the fortnight since, and now I find I must write you about this matter for it weighs on my mind and my conscience. I am sending this with my friend the hawk now while the rain is less so you may receive it as soon as possible. Please reply quickly, I need someone else's opinon on this.  
  
Sincerely,  
Flemming  
  
*** thank you, thank you, and thank you again. That's all I have to say for now. Uh, maybe those weren't great reasons for him thinking Saruman's a traitor, but I'm not an expert writer yet, and he's not the smartest of people. As you will learn if I right more stories about him. I got the idea for Flemming the Pink when reading LotR and hearing Gandalf talking about Radagast the Brown. I wondered how many other colors there were, and having a pink wizard named Flemming sounded funny.  
  
*The Gwathló is the river that runs down from Rivendale, that Frodo and the white horse (and Arwen in the movie) cross. It is also called Greyflood. Flemming is located on the southern end of it, somewhere near the sea, probably somewhere near the GreenWay.  
  
~Adieu 


End file.
